


Daisy Stains

by Ishti



Series: Rhenegade Spinoffs [4]
Category: Aveyond
Genre: Aveyond: Rhen's Quest, Break Up, Diary/Journal, F/M, POV First Person, Pre-Canon, Rhenegade Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-27 15:01:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20409697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ishti/pseuds/Ishti
Summary: How did Galahad and Blanchefleur break up? What happened to Blanchefleur? Who is Blanchefleur, anyway?





	Daisy Stains

**Author's Note:**

> Content warning in the end notes because spoilers. SPOILERS. You have been warned. I warned you about the spoilers. Nothing is graphic or disturbing.

_ I apologize for leaving you so long, Diary. I have not had much to say since the death of my father at the hands of the orcs. I do miss the pen, though, so here I am. _

_ I have been living with my uncle at his general store for now, until my upcoming wedding in August. (August is the best month for a wedding; a lady's gown may show a little more skin. The most exciting gowns are rarely modest.) _

_ Though ‘tis most unusual for a Sedonan maid to remain engaged and unwed for over a year. _

  
  
  


_ It has been lovely at Uncle's; he has allowed me the pleasure of acting as his accountant, and I have first pick of all the most interesting goods from overseas. _

_ This morning, I went downstairs to collect the books, and Uncle stood by the loading entrance with a pallet of strange, acrid-smelling barrels. He greeted me. _

_ “What is that, Uncle?” I asked him. _

_ “Rare dyes from the jungles of the Eastern Isle,” he told me. “The people there dye not their cloth with it, but the very hair atop their heads!” _

_ I giggled, for Uncle has a deliberate way of emoting which is expressive, his arms about the air. “Does it stay in?” _

_ “For a time.” He winked. _

_ “Last week, you sold teak washbasins… now, you peddle wash-away ink! You are devious, Uncle.” _

_ He patted my cheek with a wide smile. “And you are ferociously clever, my girl. It will be a shame when the store loses you.” _

_ My smile faded here. “Must I stop working just because I wed?” _

_ “‘Tis natural, my dove.” Uncle began bottling the dye, all dark stuff, and shelving it. “You move to his household and take care of his affairs. I need not explain to you what transpires between husbands and wives beyond that.” _

_ “No, you need not.” I rolled my eyes. “But I want to keep working!” _

_ “‘Tis not for wedded ladies of the court to work, and ‘tis not for me to say. Hand me that crate with the one-liter bottles, pet?” _

_ “Why is it not for ME to say?” _

_ He turned to look me in the eye. “You know if I had my word in it, I wouldn’t want to pass my shop to anyone else, Blanchefleur.” _

  
  
  


_ I have thought more on yesterday’s conversation. I knew he was correct, and I knew that he meant it. I must right my head and prepare for this grand change in my life. _

_ I met with Galahad today after squire training. ‘Tis always a delight to watch the little squires bumbling about and panting after an exhausting session with Galahad! He never bumbled; I do not think any training could faze him. _

_ In the interest of getting used to our new life together, I suggested a supper outing. He consented, kissed the top of my head, and said, “Whatever you wish.” _

_ He is not an enthusiastic man. _

_ “What of Manolo’s, at the harbor?” I suggested, trying to excite him. “The new seafood restaurant? I have heard only good things on the street. They have something called a ‘paella’, and it sounds most delicious.” _

_ “If it please you, my love.” _

_ I screamed in my head. Had he no passion? No zest for life? Perhaps--the thought cooled me, and now I do feel some concern--he is depressed, and requires closer attention. I will see to this. _

_ Dinner is in three days. _

  
  
  


_ I must confess, Diary, I have neglected you in part due to my new hobby. In Uncle’s attic, I have uncovered something most fascinating: an archive of boxes full of books, papers, and journals similar to you. _

_ These journals are set apart by the clippings within. Magical beasts, demons, fairies, werewolves--whoever collected them has eclectic tastes. I have found cryptic symbols drawn within for the Goddess only knows what purpose, each with notes in a pidgin of our own dialect and something alien, something unlike any tongue I have ever read. The keeper of these notes was a diligent student indeed, and possibly a believer. _

_ But most exciting to me, Diary, is this: I know her name. Beatrice. _

_ She was one of our family, a disgraced great-great-nth aunt of mine directly, who lived about one century ago. Her personal journals are interspersed with her “field notes”, but I gather she was being pressured into marriage to a man in whom she had no interest. (Not exactly like me, as I am experiencing pressure in my imminent marriage to a man who has no apparent interest in me… yet I feel some kinship with this woman for her situation.) _

_ I sneak into the attic with my candle at bedtime to read until the flame is almost out. If Uncle found out, I am sure he would be upset; these journals are likely hidden for a reason. He is asleep now--I can hear him snoring. Time to go. _

  
  
  


_ A slow time at work, and it must have been a slow day at the training yards, for Sir Percival came into the shop. _

_ “Sir Percival,” I said, and curtseyed. _

_ “Oh, Blanche,” he said, chuckling, “come on; there’s no need for that between friends, right?” _

_ His voice is always low and relaxing; ‘tis like standing in the gentle, constant waves in the warmth of summer. Percival has been a comfort to me throughout the years. We did not grow up close as I did with Galahad, who lived with my father, but he has come to me more and more as a friend, especially since father’s death. _

_ "Of course we are friends," I said, smiling despite myself. I like the nickname. "What are you doing here?" _

_ "Just making sure you remember me," he said. "I haven't graced your presence in nearly half a fortnight." _

_ "So a week. You think yourself a man of wit?" _

_ It went on like this. He stalls at times. Eventually, he said, "I have not seen you about the courtyard much anymore. The flowers wilt for your absence." _

_ He was so earnest. I told him, "I have been working." _

_ "You are not the only hand behind these walls, Blanche!" _

_ "I am the most dedicated, besides Uncle." _

_ Percival leaned on the counter and asked, "Should you not be so dedicated to other matters soon to pass?" _

_ I might have chased him out of the shop were it not for the tone I sensed in his voice. It was neither pressing nor chastising; merely concerned. _

_ Is there reason for concern, Diary? _

_ Percival joked around in the displays a bit, I reckon to lift my spirits, and then he accidentally shattered a bottle of the Eastern dye and I shooed him out like a recalcitrant raccoon. But my chest has been heavy the entire afternoon. Perhaps something is wrong within me. I must right it before I am wed. _

  
  
  


_ Neither Galahad nor I have parents to command the direction of our wedding, so planning is left up to me. No committee; not even a stern aunt to take the reins--the ceremony and reception are mine in their entirety. _

_ Oh, Diary, you would not believe the work. _

_ Today, I left Uncle and a part-time employee at the shop so I might speak with the florist. She showed me designs for the pavilion, the arbor, the courtyard pots and vases, the walkway, my bouquet, and even the flowers to be strewn by the maid behind me (a relative of my Uncle’s; I have met her perhaps twice); then came the reception hall, the long tables, the corner tables, the walls--I had to approve each design individually, from the species of plant to the colors to the configuration…. ‘Twas more than enough to make my head spin. _

_ And then, of course, I had the grand sense to schedule my dress fitting for the same day. Wisely, I thought, this would give the seamstress enough time to perform alterations without giving myself too much time to lose my remaining body fat to the stress! But this fabric was out of stock, and the cut was much too awkward by the shoulder, and it became asymmetrical about the bust, and this and that, as one must expect. _

_ And I have not even met with the pâtissier. _

_ To my knowledge, a great deal of this drudgery is often performed by either the mother of the bride, the mother of the groom, or, if neither are available, the bridesmaids. Every bride has bridesmaids! Every bride. _

_ Well, Diary, I must confess… I have none. _

_ I have never been the most popular of ladies among my peers of any gender. Truth be told, I have little in common with the other ladies; I know myself to be outspoken and blunt, while they tend to fawn and fuss and, when ‘twould be appropriate to call out aloud in judgment, they instead choose to point the finger behind the fan. For this, and for other reasons, I suppose, our interactions are brief and subtly sour. _

_ And the gentlemen have little interest in ladies who do not fawn and fuss. They should learn to stoke their own egos. _

_ I have no female friends in the court, or in the city at all, really. In fact, I do believe one or two resent me for my proximity to Galahad; he appears to have a small “fan club”, which is absurd. They desire him for his handsome looks and perhaps for his attainment of the paladin mantle at a young age, but they know him not as a person. They act shallowly. _

_ Thus, it falls to me to perform all nuptial duties. No small feat, but nothing I cannot handle alone. _

  
  
  


_ I have finished the previous journal I was reading in the attic, a collection of personal notes interspersed with the tracking of the phase of the moon and of the movements of supernatural beings I have yet to see with my mortal eyes. I have begun the next volume in the archive, and it seems that Beatrice has taken a keen interest in all things vampiric. Her research is impeccable. _

_ I begin to understand why she kept her notes hidden. No woman would be taken as seriously in this science as would a man. This collection would be deemed the scribblings of a madwoman. _

_ Notes here and there elaborate theories on a vampire’s feeding process, or when, where, and how a vampire may sleep; others describe the vampire’s relationship with light, or with wild animals. The longest chapter by far describes several different detailed hypotheses on turning. A morbid study, for certain, but we all have our curiosities. _

  
  
  


_ Dinner is tomorrow night, so I thought it appropriate to meet with my date. He was preparing the new town watch arrangements in the northern tower. _

_ “Galahad,” I said, and he did not at all seem startled to see me. “Have you a minute?” _

_ He did put down his quill. “What troubles you, my lady?” (Much too formal, so I remember it clearly.) _

_ “I want to remind you of our engagement tomorrow night at Manolo’s. Have you aught to wear?” _

_ "I shall wear my dinner cape." _

_ "And… your armor, then?" _

_ "Yes, my love." _

_ I believe the face I made was less than genteel. I said, "Of late, have you purchased all your cloth at the blacksmith?" _

_ "No; I had not heard she tailors." (I ought not be sarcastic with Galahad. He is an apricot.) _

_ "Galahad, do you ever remove your work uniform the way you once did? I never see you anywhere clad as a civilian." _

_ "I am not a civilian, Fleur; I am a paladin." He spoke as if explaining gently to a child. _

_ I could gain no further ground with him, so I left. Wear the cape he shall; I care not. May the Goddess gird him with silk trousers on our wedding day, for his sake. _

  
  


_ Uncle and I closed the shop together tonight. The hair dyes have sold well; patrons of all stripes have gone giddy over the novelty. Imelda from the park district came in to show us how well the dye worked. Her hair was carrot orange and quite shiny. _

_ Imelda is one of the ladies who will speak only with Uncle when she comes to the shop. She will not make eye contact with me. _

_ Uncle asked me about it while we took down the towel display. "She seemed cold to you," he said. _

_ "Yes." I did not want to elaborate. _

_ He made a sad noise in his throat and hugged me round the shoulders. We need not speak much to understand one another in times of intensity. But, when he turned to put the soaps away, he began to hum the song Grandfather used to sing, the one about the traveler on the road wide enough only for them, and that was exactly what I needed him to say. _

  
  


_ I read more this eve. The vampire field notes began to trouble me with their depth, so I set them aside for now. Instead, I picked up the smallest book. 'Twas a diary. _

_ I flipped through quickly. Diaries read like poetry, and hers especially. Her wordsmanship is unparalleled in my sight, yet her mind troubled. She writes as if she fears someone would read. I suppose someone is. _

_ To make short of it, she had lovers--three, named by initial only--and all women, it seemed. Her illicit trysts outside her engagement came to a head, as did her yearning to find… something, to become something "transcendent". She used that word no fewer than five times. _

_ By the end, she fled Sedona. She seemed proud of it. She wrote, "finally". _

  
  


_ I got such little sleep last night, and Percival sees fit to harass me once more! _

_ He is troubling Uncle about hand mirrors, mere boyish antics. Uncle is not entertained. I wonder at Percival's true purpose in visiting. I did visit the castle yesterday and leave in an irritated manner, and I know the nobles have been talking. Lord Gavin thinks he whispers, but his voice echoes like the whining of a donkey. _

_ I am glaring at Percival's back. Has he come to me with pity? _

_ The company, I must admit, is not so unsavory. I miss having a friend with whom I spend time daily. Percival is a terrible knight; he can take nothing seriously and he is so forgetful. But I smile thinking of how he entered the store, hopping in with a broom like a witch, then pantomiming a jouster, a lutist, a man who knows how to sweep. _

_ It makes me almost wish I could invite him to dinner tonight, him and Galahad and I together as three friends enjoying warmth and companionship. And that makes me wonder when, and why, my relationship with Galahad stopped feeling thus. Are my fiancee and I still friends? If one were to crack open this relationship like an egg, what essential insides would spill out? _

_ What did Percival say at my engagement party? "May your wedding be the least exciting day of your marriage." _

_ He is a damned romantic. _

_ I am not. And Galahad… is an idealist. We must break our routine to recall what it means to be in love. _

  
  


_ What in the Goddess' name do I do now? _

_ Dinner capsized like a ship with no ballast. I know I must record it to exorcise my feelings, but it hurts to recall each moment. _

_ I arrived at Manolo's second. Galahad is always one minute early to everything, so I allowed him to beat me. I found him announcing our reservation to the host. _

_ "You look beautiful, my love," he told me. _

_ "And you like a proper stonefruit," I replied. _

_ He chuckled. We took our seats and ordered our meals. Galahad ordered a four-cheese creamy pasta. _

_ "We are at a restaurant famed for their seafood, and you order cheese?" I said. _

_ "As you know, I enjoy it," he replied. _

_ "You never want to try anything new." _

_ "I am content." He folded his hands. "Would that I might share my contentment with you, my love." _

_ I may have dropped something and made a mess. "What?" _

_ "'Twould benefit your spirit to demonstrate more positivity." _

_ "Are you telling me that I complain too much?" The tablecloth was clenched in my hands. _

_ By his face, I could tell Galahad did not expect this escalation. "Calm down, Blanchefleur," he said, as if such a command would do anything but rile me. "I merely meant that different outlooks bring us closer to our higher selves." _

_ "At this moment, I feel at one with my lowest self," I spat. _

_ "You are so angry," he murmured. _

_ "Am I?" _

_ "Yes," he said, his voice rising in an attempt to dominate the discussion. "You alienate yourself with your ire, Fleur; can you not see it?" _

_ "Ah, friendless, hopeless, heartless Blanchefleur! 'Tis I!" I was surely making a scene, but I cared not. "You are cruel!" _

_ "You were a happy girl once. You have changed much since your father--" _

_ For once, he realized that he ought to shut his mouth. _

_ "Since my father what?" I hissed. I wanted to provoke him. I wanted to release it. _

_ "Oh…" he stammered into quietude. "No, I--I should not have…." _

_ "No," I snapped. "You should not.” _

_ Galahad went silent. A length of time passed, I suppose, and the waiter, oblivious, delivered our food. Galahad stared upon his as if in shame; I severed not my sight from his stupid forehead. _

_ “Shall we eat, Galahad? Or fear you that, on trying the squid, I may grow tentacles and slip away into the sea?” _

_ He rose and left. _

_ The paella was large enough for two. Alone at the table, I ate it all with defiance dripping down my chin. _

  
  


_ Morning rises, and with it, I. Today I must tell Uncle of my fight with Galahad; he may know how to repair it, or at least bandage it while it heals. _

_ The lunar eclipse is tomorrow night. I read a bit in Beatrice’s journals of the patterns of the moon; the lunar and solar eclipses happen twice each year during opposite months, the lunar and solar half a month apart, and each year they are one month earlier than the year before. I found this fascinating--I had never before noticed. Beatrice writes quite a lot on the moon and its mechanics. _

_ I have learned so much from Beatrice. And… she understands me, in her wildness and vigor, in a way that no one here ever could. Sometimes, it feels as if she is my only true friend. _

_ And like that, Diary, I hear Percival tormenting my Uncle in the shop downstairs. “Do your rubber shoes stretch, Master Gornemant? No? Have you no size larger, then?” Gods’ cataracts. I must go. _

  
  


_ Today has been uncomfortable. _

_ It started out well enough. Percival was dear. When I went downstairs, he stepped back courteously and ushered me to my workstation, where I began accounting for the last day’s sales. _

_ “Ever prepared to put her nose to the grindstone, that Blanche,” he commented to Uncle, who chuckled. _

_ “Because it doesn’t smell half so bad as your sweaty gambeson,” I retorted, in civil spirits. “It stinks even from here.” _

_ He laughed. “You never stop, do you,” he said, and there was some affection in his voice that cut--it sliced--into me, shocked me, and sewed me right back up all at once. I cleared my throat and said nothing. _

_ Percival resumed acting the fool for perhaps fifteen minutes before Uncle ejected him. It was not yet rush time (we have few customers before ten in the morning). _

_ “You were upset last night,” said Uncle once Percival was away. It was not a question. “Dinner went poorly.” _

_ I told him what happened--I need not recount it here. He embraced me for perhaps a minute, rocking me and stroking my hair as if I were a child. We are not crying folk, so I did not weep, but I confess my throat did hurt. _

_ “If you will it in your heart that it be right, you will right it, my dove.” _

_ I did not deserve his kindness. _

_ He left me to mind the shop while he gathered a shipment at the northern cove. I believe he meant to keep me in so I would not seek out Galahad right away. There may be wisdom in this distance; Galahad is a gentle soul, but stubborn. _

_ Several young women entered the shop close to one hour after noon. Their hair was tightly curled and their dresses ballooned behind them, as is the style this year. They marched like a battalion of bedsheets, laughing coyly behind slender hands as they jabbered about some widow or another. As soon as they saw me, they fell silent. Then, they walked on about the shop, acting as if they hadn’t seen me at all. _

_ “This one is terribly out of fashion, isn’t it, though?” _

_ “Oh my gods, Martha, where would they even FIND one of these this year?” _

_ “How would this look on me?” (Pause, uncontrollable laughter.) “Hideous thing!” _

_ It went on and on. I could not focus on my work at all due to their crowing, but I recognized immediately that any attempt on my part to hush them would turn awry. _

_ “Did either of you see the old man? Gornemant?” asked one lady of the others. _

_ “No, I didn’t!” _

_ “Well, I want to buy this. Where is he?” _

_ I happened to be not six feet before her. _

_ “Maybe upstairs? Gornemant! MISTER GORNEMANT!” _

_ The ladies began yelling for Uncle in their little magpie voices. I could only hold my head in my hands and groan. _

_ “Well, I suppose he isn’t here!” _

_ “I suppose he isn’t!” _

_ And then there was a CRASH and one of them said mockingly, “Oops.” _

_ A pint glass jar of the new dye lay smashed and splattered all over the floor just beyond the pristine hemline of one of the three devils. She was exchanging a glance with the others of her ilk. At this time I said, “That is enough; if your intent is to destroy our merchandise, I must ask you to leave,” but naturally I was ignored and another jar met the ground. _

_ “Oh, clumsy me!” _

_ “Well, who can blame you, with all these new displays and no Gornemant to show you around!” _

_ Another bumped a hip into a nearby display of scarves, knocking two to the ground. Carefully hiking up her skirt, she smeared the scarves through the spilled dye with her shoe. _

_ The dye-smashing lady tittered and said, “Gods, what an unstable rack! And so close to all this disgusting paint stuff.” _

_ “Really! Who on Aia set up this display?” _

_ I did. _

_ “I will only ask you to leave one more time,” I warned them. _

_ There was an awful ripping noise, and the third “lady” seemed to have dragged her parasol directly through the canvas of an original Horatio oil painting. _

_ “Oh dear,” she fretted, “we shouldn’t have had those mimosas this morning!” _

_ All cackled. I saw red and rolled up my sleeves, but they began for the door. _

_ “I suppose they won’t be selling that ugly thing!” _

_ “Oh, you know. It’s not as if this shop will last much longer anyway.” _

_ “You’re right, Jeanine. It’s doomed.” _

_ They laughed again, and I willed one to trip over the doorstep on her way out. _

  
  


_ I begin to believe that my uncle would be better off without me. I only cause harm. He thinks me a gentle soul deep down, but I am not! What if I have not an ounce of gentility within me? _

  
  


_ Gods, Diary-- _

_ It is over. _

_ I went to speak with Galahad. The boy I have cherished as a friend since the earliest days of my youth. The man I have claimed as my beloved since we were old enough to blush. I went to his room at the castle and spoke. _

_ “Galahad,” I said. “We should talk about the other night.” _

_ “I wish to apologize,” he said immediately. “I spoke rashly and hurt you.” _

_ “Thank you. I wish to apologize as well for my childish behavior.” I bowed my head. “Perhaps I am too negative. If I am a changing woman, then I wish to change for the better.” _

_ “And I may try something… new. If it please you, I shall learn this year’s line dance for our wedding.” _

_ I sighed, and without thinking--I never think, Diary, never--I said, “Is that all change means to you, Galahad?” _

_ His face closed up. “Is there something more you want, Fleur, my love?” _

_ “Why are you doing it for me? Why do you not WANT to try anything new?” I was stammering, not something I do often. “Do you WANT to live your life a--a mining cart, inseparable from its rails?!” _

_ “What do you mean?” _

_ “You can’t even see it!” I was yelling now. Gods--I would ask where this came from, but I knew where; I just did not expect it all then. “You know exactly how your life should look, don’t you, Galahad! You are so stubborn that you can tell yourself a lie, then pursue it without critical thought!” _

_ “Fleur.” He reached out a finger to touch my cheek, gentle as breath, and brush away a tear I did not know I had wept; now, I felt them come. “Fleur, what… lie?” _

_ My voice evaporated like so much mist. I found his soft, blue eyes, and wished with desperation and futility to the Goddess that this could be salvaged. _

_ “That you love me.” _

_ His hand fell. “What?” he whispered, and I felt his chest tighten as my own. _

_ I had to continue. “You wrote yourself a story, Galahad,” I said, hating to hear the sound of my wavering voice, “and you will not deviate from it; and in that story, you are to marry the daughter of your mentor, the girl with whom you were raised, because that is how it is in every story. And you know when it should happen, and how it should happen, and what your life together should look like--how--how she will wake up beside you in the morning and kiss your cheek, how she will wait for you by the training yard and cheer, how she will dazzle the nobility on your arm at every function, how she will raise your children to play and joke and love and dream exactly like you do.” I could barely speak here. “And how she will smile with you tenderly and vacuously every day until the day you pass.” _

_ “Fleur, I don’t understand.” _

_ He seemed so small in that moment. He was the boy. _

_ “You don’t love me, Galahad,” I choked. “You only think you’re supposed to.” _

_ In the forty-five seconds it took him not to object to that statement while he gazed at me helplessly, I realized that there was no objection. I was right. I desperately wanted not to be right, but while that may not have been the ideal way to find the truth, the truth I had found. Galahad did not love me. _

_ I slipped the engagement ring from my finger and placed it upon his bedside table. “You deserve a real life, Galahad,” I told him, hoping he would understand, “and so do I.” _

  
  


_ I went to the docks to watch the lunar eclipse tonight. Percival found me there, and he sat on the bench beside me. I wish he had not. _

  
  


_ Uncle and I awoke this morning to the sound of windows being smashed. I was horribly groggy, but Uncle was alert within seconds, thundering down the stairs in his nightclothes. The front windows had been smashed in, and tossed through one of them, at least a dozen pounds of raw Eldredth squid. _

_ The smell, Diary. _

_ He came to me a wreck. It may seem difficult to read Uncle’s emotions, but I can tell the toll this vandalism--inspired without doubt by my thrice-cursed paella excursion--took on him. He said, “Blanchefleur, I need you to pack the inventory for the week.” _

_ Knowing we would only pack away all of our inventory in a time of hiatus or disaster, I responded, “We can fix this, Uncle. It will be easy to clean.” _

_ “We need new windows, and we need something to get the smell out! It lingers in this hard wood!” _

_ “The glassmaker will help--” _

_ “Go, then! To the glassmaker with you.” _

_ I should not have to tell you, Diary, that the glassmaker refused to help me in any capacity, as I was merely a disreputable spinster without my father’s standing or some hogwash which I know was just cover for “You spurned Galahad and we like him better than you.” _

_ Gossip in this damnable city is ruining my Uncle’s business and his reputation. Forget mine; it has long been in the gutter. Uncle deserves none of this! I am doing him a disservice by remaining in his employ and household… not as if I have anywhere else to safely go. _

_ There is, however, one person I can think of who perhaps has the clearest perspective on such things. _

  
  


_ I have little time to write as this lantern burns low. Here is my situation: _

_ I sit by a cliff under cover of night. The bandage on my left hand is soaking through with blood; I am sorry for staining your pages, Diary. The dress I wore today, lying hundreds of feet below on the rocks, is smeared in the same stuff, dark and purplish in the moonlight. My hair is damp with the water with which I rinsed out the dye from my Uncle’s shop. I do wonder how I look now, as a brunette. _

_ Uncle will grieve. Percival may, as well. I had to fake my death, or else Galahad would come searching for me, and I know he would not give up until he found me. I am sorry to all of them. _

_ I have enough food and water for a couple of days, and a knife I can conceal under this cloak. I took some more dye and, for luck, the last of Beatrice’s journals (they are heavy). I am wearing my plainest dress so that I may blend into whatever village I find--but I must find something, and I must blend. I am starting a new life. _

_ Beatrice said ‘tis what eclipses are for--they shake your life to pieces, and then, you start a new one. Blanchefleur died at the bottom of that cliff, for all of Sedona and for me. _

  
  


_ Three days since I last wrote. I hid from Goddess-forsaken orcs in the Peninsula forest only to find myself lost in the snake-riddled plains of the lowlands. But, praised be every god and the Goddess and Aveyond itself, I have found sanctuary. _

_ The Gentle Children’s School, which is nestled in the south-west of the plains, has offered me a bed for as long as I can make myself useful. Headmaster Joel was accommodating when I admitted my greatest strength is simply accounting. He will allow me to assist a teacher at the school and perform some housekeeping duties, and if my skills are sufficient, teaching may one day be a prospect for me. _

_ Miss Beatrice. Perhaps the children shall call me Miss Bea, like a bumble bee. I smile at the thought. _

_ Since Blanchefleur is dead, you, Diary, must die with her. I thought I might burn you, but I would regret it, so I will hide you under this loose floorboard here in the dorm. Keep my secrets. _

_ When I wake up tomorrow, nothing I know will be there; nothing will be the same. Yet, I am hopeful once more that a life lies ahead of me. This time, I shall make friends. And… thank you, Galahad; I WILL be more positive. _

_ (‘Tis an excellent idea no matter whose it was.) _

**Author's Note:**

> Content warning for faked suicide, self harm (briefly).
> 
> Percy is here too shout out to Percy


End file.
